


Stir Chop Mix Puree

by Miraelechatnoir



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:02:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miraelechatnoir/pseuds/Miraelechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short about Abbie & Andy (and others, but later)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stir Chop Mix Puree

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. New here. I've been curious about the Abbie/Andy dynamic since the pilot and wanted to explore that. I haven't written in a long time....I hope it's not too choppy.

He was the kind of guy who kept a straight face; meanwhile Abbie furrowed her brows, pressed her lips together tightly, and dabbed at the tears trying to escape her eyes. This was neither the time nor the place, but Andy seemed to have a knack for finding the levity in all situations that were inappropriate for humor. Abbie didn’t dare to look in his direction in fear she’d burst into laughter. Standing before her was a very spirited and very naked 90 year old man holding a fly swatter and flailing his arms about wildly in the air, telling a story about a pesky, vindictive squirrel.

“Mr. Wimbley, I understand what you’re saying, sir, but you cannot be out in public—exposed like this.” She gestured toward his _bits_. “Haven’t we discussed this before? Where’s Mary? Is your granddaughter home, Mr. Wimbley?”

“Well no, she went to go pick up my great grandbaby. Have ya seen ‘em ‘round town, Abbie? Cutest lil’ thing-I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Wimbley said with a toothless smile that beamed across his face at the mention of the little one.

“Uh, no….no I haven’t,” Abbie answered. Andy cleared his throat.

“Mr. Wimbley, we have to get you back inside now or arrest you for indecent exposure, sir,” Andy said in an emotionless tone. Mr. Wimbley shot a glance at Andy, giving him the good old “evil eye”.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go back inside. Now you two git,” he said as he shooed them away with his hands then walked back towards the entrance of his house. Abbie shook her head and blinked rapidly, fighting tears as she watched his movements. The steps leading up to the front porch creaked as Mr. Wimbley tackled them slowly, one by one…. _just like a 500 year old tortoise without a damn shell to cover his flat hairy ass_.

Andy coughed and without missing a beat said,”Mr. Wimbley, you dropped your fly swatter, sir.”

Abbie’s eyes widened and she turned to Andy with a pained expression on her face. Without cracking the slightest smile Andy winked at her and pointed his chin toward Mr. Wimbley. She knew exactly what sight would be in front of her, but looked anyway reflexively on impulse. _Oh my God. Why? Sweet baby Jesus didn’t die for this._

Mr. Wimbley was bent over retrieving the fly swatter he had dropped on the porch. _Wrinkly bits just sagging all low. Whoops! He grabbed for it but missed it. Second attempt. Third attempt._ Abbie lowered her head, shut her eyes tightly and bit down on her bottom lip; a small whimper escaped through the corner of her mouth. Andy heard it and smirked. _Fourth attempt_. She threw her hands up and did an immediate about face, taking quick strides back to the police cruiser.

 

Corbin was on vacation and Andy’s partner was out on maternity leave, so it was only logical that the orphaned new kids on the block be paired with each other-seeing how nobody wanted to babysit. Neither of them seemed to mind the coupling, as it was convenient and comfortable for both parties.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abbie and Andy had become friends sometime throughout their stint in the Westchester County Police Academy. She was studious, knew her shit and only spoke when absolutely necessary _because some overly macho fools couldn’t take the hint that_ she _wasn’t there for them_. The smallest of the bunch, the brightest, one of three women out of a graduating class of seventy and tough as nails; that was Abbie Mills. On the surface Andy Brooks appeared quiet and contemplative. He may have been both of those at one point, but what stood out the most for Abbie Mills was Brooks’ spot on sarcasm. That’s right. Andy Brooks was master of deadpan humor and while others responded to him with looks of confusion or utter annoyance, Abbie Mills would smile to herself in amusement. _That dude is hilarious_.

He wasn’t certain of exactly when Grace Abigail Mills became a name and a face he’d never forget, but if he had to guess…… _probably around the first time I heard her laugh. She never laughs-I mean until she did….at me. For maybe-what- three seconds, her whole face lit up. That smile looked like it belonged there all along and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only guy who thought that. She had this really sweet sort of chuckle—and her eyes, man—her EYES smiled. And then, out of the blue- like Neil Patrick Harris riding a unicorn, it happened…..chuckle chuckle snort..pause..chuckle snort. I think that maybe from then on-- I wanted to be the guy that made her do that all the time._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andy hopped into the passenger side of the police cruiser. “Aww you’re driving, Miss Daisy? How sweet,” he said as he fastened his seatbelt.

“Brooks, I’m gonna shoot you,” Abbie said with a wide smile forming across her face, barely able to contain the laughter that vibrated in her chest. She started the cruiser then carefully pulled out into the street.

“Will that be today? I mean, I hope not. I’m going out tonight after work. Have a couple beers…do a little dancing. Work on the moves. It’s all in the hips, you know,” Andy rambled, tapping his fingers on his thigh.

“Dancing, huh?” Abbie asked, brow raised. “Brooks, you don’t dance. You swing your arms and shuffle your feet, but we both know…”

“I SAID there would be beer,” Andy interrupted, “and beer says you’re wrong. Besides, one of the guys at worked mentioned it and I thought it’d be a good way to get to know the team and unwind.” Abbie laughed. _Yeah I can see you unwinding all right, doing that damn sprinkler thing with your arms_.

“Want to go?” He asked.

“Who, me?” Abbie looked at him as if he were insane. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Aw c’mon Abs,” said Andy, “Don’t be a party pooper.”

“Brooks, the only thing I want to do after a twelve hour shift is go home, have something to eat, take a long hot shower and take my ass to bed; in that order,” Abbie said as she adjusted the volume of the police radio scanner.

Andy stiffened and peered out toward the road ahead while tapping his fingers on his thigh a bit more rapidly. The thought of her standing beneath a showerhead with steaming hot water raining down onto her smooth skin-pushing foamy soap suds around the curves of her body, was almost enough to cause him to lose his composure. Abbie fiddled with the buttons of the car radio until she found something of her liking. She hummed and tapped her hands on the steering wheel with the jazzy tune that played.

Andy reached over and turned the car stereo off.

“Andy!” She barked, giving him a dirty look then reaching for the button to turn it back on. He caught her hand before she could get to it. She glanced at him, glanced at their hands then back towards the road. She didn’t pull away immediately, but slowly, she pulled away.

“Please?” He asked.

There was a short silence.

Abbie kept her eyes on the road ahead.

“I’ll think about it.”


End file.
